


Never and Always

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Enterprise Captain Spock, Everyone lives, Farragut Captain Jim, First Officer Uhura, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hookups, Kelvin Universe, M/M, Miscommunication, Mistaken Identity, hook up app
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 05:24:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Maybe it's the chocolate lowering his inhibitions, but Captain Spock finds himself agreeing to his Lieutenant's suggestion that he...hook up while on shore leave.  In hindsight, it sounded like a great idea, until the Junior Officer he was waiting for turns out to be the Captain of the Farragut, James T. Kirk.  And the worst part about all that, Spock has been pining for him since Nero.





	Never and Always

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know where this came from. It's set in the Kelvin Universe, except George Kirk survives, and Nero doesn't blow up Vulcan, and Jim ends up assigned to the Farragut as Captain, instead of the Enterprise. Khan is still a thing, but it's in the background, and both Jim and Spock are hot, pining messes.
> 
> I didn't tag dubcon because there isn't really. Everyone is sober and consenting by the time sex happens--however there is mistaken identity. Spock mistakes Jim for an escort, and Jim has no idea that's a thing until later. But they're both enthusiastic about having sex with each other, so that's why I didn't tag. But I'm warning you now in case that's still too triggering for you.

The smell is rich and heady, and goes down thick. There’s a slight burn as it hits his stomach, and it doesn’t take long for the effects to his equilibrium, and his processing, and his reaction time become noticeable. He stops worrying about it after the second drink, and by the third it feels…well. It feels good.

The back of his mind, Spock registers something else—the ability to control emotions with logic is compromised. The well of loneliness begins creeping in, an unnamable feeling, a craving he can’t name and doesn’t often experience. He panics for a second, thinking maybe he’s going into Pon Farr until he hears a laugh to his right and turns to see Nyota lean in toward him.

“Wanting to hook up doesn’t mean Pon Farr, Spock,” she tells him over the thrum of music.

Spock hadn’t realized he had spoken aloud and it does worry him—somewhere in the back of his mind, at least, that he’s lost that much control of his faculties. But the chocolate proves a worthy adversary to logic and he tucks that worry away in favor of another drink.

“I know someone who can help,” comes another voice. Pavel, he registers belatedly. “I have a number, if you understand my meeting. Very discreet, understands alien needs—biology.” Pavel is waving his hand dismissively, and Spock notices the rest of the table rolling their eyes as Pavel huffs. “Trust me, is great for shore leave! I know all about it.”

“If you’re about to tell us that prostitution was invented in Russia,” Nyota says dryly, just as Christine mutters, “Why am I not surprised you can vouch for an escort service.”

“It’s a very formidable career,” Pavel says with a huff.

“No one is arguing with you,” Nyota points out. “Anyway, it’s…not actually a bad idea, Spock.”

Spock blinks, and his tongue feels heavy, but he nods. “Okay.” He’s fairly sure he’s never said the word ‘okay’ as a sentence before in his life.

The table seems to agree because Nyota is already making noise about whether or not Spock is sober enough to actually consent to this, and Christine is suggesting Spock get some water, and Pavel is punching a number into Spock’s comm.

~*~ 

Jim sighs, glowering at Bones for dragging him to this _hole_ filled with over-eager, over-inebriated ensigns who would gladly jump at the chance to bag a superior officer on Shore Leave. Jim knows. He’s been there once. Or twice. Or…some other amount of times. Either way, he’s captain now, and he has actual captaining duties to get to instead of tossing a few glasses back of—well. Whatever the hell they’re serving on this planet.

There are three Federation Starships parked in orbit, three ships’ worth of crew members on leave for the week, or the weekend, in Jim’s case. It’s been a slow few months, which in retrospect is probably a good thing, though Jim is getting bored and that’s kind of a problem.

But they’re heading out to the edge of the galaxy to oversee trade negotiations with the Bengurians which so far haven’t gone exactly to plan. At least according to the reports Jim read up on when he was assigned the task. The thought of a little conflict has him riled up a little, which is probably why Bones dragged his ass out anyway.

He missed the good old days when he was busy saving Vulcan from imminent destruction and going head to head with snarky Vulcan First Officers before his reassignment to the Farragut, and the eventual promotion. Those were the days, at least.

The last bit of excitement he had was helping the Enterprise chase down some nearly immortal madman from the early nineteen nineties who had been unfrozen and went on a havoc-wreaking tirade which nearly ended Jim’s life. And a few others.

He’d met with that Vulcan Captain then, too. Spock something or other. Or…maybe just Spock—Jim’s not really up on the whole Vulcan name things since most of their names are unpronounceable by human tongue. It helps Jim finds him scorching hot—especially his bad attitude and disdain for Jim because well…he’s got some complexes. Bones would call them daddy issues—but not sexy. More like the, my dad was nearly killed by a time-traveling Romulan madman who showed up 22 years later to blow up Vulcan and Earth, and now Jim has a lot to live up to sort of issues.

It does help he’s the youngest Captain in history.

It doesn’t help that people still compare him to the now-retired George Kirk.

But that’s neither here nor there.

Mostly Jim just doesn’t want to be on Shore Leave. “Bones, come on. I have a mountain of work to finish and…”

“Shut up, Jim,” Bones grouses as he grabs Jim’s sleeve. Not only did Bones managed to convince Jim to get off the ship and go out, but he convinced him to do it in civvies. And okay Jim happens to think his ass looks great in tight jeans, and he fills out t-shirts very well, but he feels naked and invisible without his badge. “Your levels are off, you’re showing signs of both physical and mental fatigue. I didn’t like the look of your last exam.”

“And getting shit-faced with strangers is the cure?” Jim snarks as Bones all-but elbows his way through the crowd to the waiting bar.

Bones huffs, then shoves Jim toward the stool. “Shut the hell up and order something that’ll make you grow hair on your chest.”

Jim glowers at him but considering he’s still in his twenties and has yet to really achieve hairy status, he doesn’t have a leg to stand on. So he just holds up one finger and hopes the bartender with the web-pronged ears knows what that means.

A drink shows up in front of him a minute later—bright green and toxic looking, but it tastes like fruit and it doesn’t burn on the way down, and Bones has stopped glaring at him, so he’s calling it a win.

~*~ 

“Human or other?” Pavel asks.

Spock blinks. His body, in spite of what his people consider a half-human disadvantage, still processes intoxicants at a far faster rate, so although he’s still not feeling himself, he’s a little more coherent than he was two glasses of chocolate ago. “I don’t…think this is a logical course of action.”

“I think that if you can sober up, it might actually be a good idea,” Nyota puts in, smiling at him in a way that should be infuriating, but the chocolate takes the edge off his irritation. “You’re wound tight, babe. It’ll do you some good. No strings attached, blow a load, get those hormone levels to somewhere around reasonable.”

Spock frowns at her, then looks back at Pavel. “Am I to assume there are no Vulcan options?”

“Not on this list,” Pavel says, sighing. “We’ve got Andorian here, Betazoid, Orion, Acamarian, and one registered half Denobulan.”

“How does that thing even work?” Hikaru asks, leaning in closer.

“People who are willing to participate have an account, register on whatever planet they’re occupying. You just…click and order,” Pavel says with a small, innocent grin.

Spock sighs. “Human would be most acceptable, being that they would be most compatible with both human and Vulcan heritage.”

“Orions are too,” Nyota points out.

“I would hesitate to accept one as I cannot be certain the Orion is participating on their own, or under force,” Spock says a little shortly, agitated still by Orion slavery.

The group collectively shrugs, and though Spock thinks this is a terrible idea—more and more as the intoxicant wears off—he merely inclines his head and allows Pavel to place an order.

“His name is Jason,” he says after a moment. “Sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, Starfleet junior officer.”

Spock nearly chokes on his own saliva. “Junior officer… I am a Starfleet Captain…”

“Not his captain,” Nyota points out, “and he doesn’t have to know that.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow at her. “I believe it is obvious by my state of dress, Nyota.”

She grins at him, like a hungry cat. “Not if you swap with Hikaru.”

The navigator looks put out by this, but eventually gives a resigned sigh and seems agreeable with the switch. Spock is ruffled by the idea that someone will be wearing a command uniform above his rank, but he supposes they _are_ on shore leave, and there is no issue of rank if the other person is unaware of his. And Nyota isn’t wrong in her assessment that he is not this particular officer’s Captain.

With a slight slump to his shoulders, he eventually follows Hikaru into the facilities to change.

~*~ 

“Oh lord, here we go.”

Jim glances up from his drink—which surprisingly has zero effect on him so he thinks maybe these people can’t get humans drunk—and he sees Bones glaring at the end of the bar. Jim squints in the dimly lit space, and can tell there’s a guy sitting at the very end of the bar, but he can’t quite make him out over Bones’ shoulder.

“You got beef with that guy? I’ve got your back, man. I have no problem…”

“No, you idiot,” Bones grouses, and drags one hand down his face in the way he does when he’s completely and entirely done with Jim’s shit. “That’s that green-blooded hobgoblin you have such a boner for.”

Jim, who had taken a drink of his—well, whatever it is—promptly chokes on it and splutters as Bones thwacks him on the back. “Oh shit. That’s Spock? That’s…him?”

Bones huffs and moves to the side and yeah. Yeah. Sure enough, it _is_ Spock, and Jim almost chokes to death again because the guy is wearing a freaking cardigan and trousers looking like five foot ten delicious, green blooded walking sex and Jim’s so, so into it.

“I should go talk to him? Shouldn’t I? I mean, it’s been a while since the whole…Khan mess…” Jim knows that Spock didn’t stick around or anything after the warp core incident where Jim beamed onto the ship then proceeded to basically kill himself to avoid the Enterprise blowing up half of Earth. But he doesn’t think the guy hates him.

Or well. He doesn’t actually know that, but apart from pissing the Vulcan off enough to have him marooned and then getting nearly strangled to death by him, he hasn’t done anything particularly offensive. Lately.

He drags a hand through his hair, sighs, and pushes to his feet. “Wish me luck, Bones.”

“Absolutely not, Jimmy. In fact, I see some friends from the Academy, and I’m going to go say hi and have a few drinks and do anything except watch you make a damn fool of yourself. Just as an FYI, this was not what I had in mind when I said you needed to unwind.” Then he grabs his drink and storms off, leaving Jim to his own devices.

He looks up, feeling a little shy all of a sudden, but the Enterprise Captain isn’t looking anywhere near him so he’s got that on his side. He downs the drink, signals for another, and then says a prayer that it’s not all going to blow up in his face.

~*~ 

By the time Spock is sober, he’s still alone at the bar and wondering if maybe this was some human prank his crew decided to pull. He once—unthinkingly—mentioned that he never participated in things like pranking or hazing during his academy years. A few of them were shocked and horrified that he had skipped out on such a long-standing tradition, but it wasn’t mentioned again.

His crew is perhaps a little rough, but not often mean-spirited, so he has a hard time finding any logic in this being a falsity. All the same, he grips his water glass and tries to chase the last vestiges of the chocolate out of his system should the junior officer actually show up.

Ten point seven minutes have gone by, and just as Spock has decided that he is not going to go through with this, a body fills the stool next to him. It’s dark, so it takes him a minute to recognize the light eyes and dirty-blonde hair, but Spock has been through enough with this man to know exactly who’s sitting next to him.

“Waiting for me,” Captain James T. Kirk says with his infuriating grin.

Spock blinks, and then he realizes…he realizes exactly what this is. Logic clicks it all into place with little effort. James must use the services to obtain…relations. He hides his identity—just as Spock is doing now—and alters his name and his rank, gives an accurate description so he will be recognized by the service patrons. Of all the people, in all the galaxies, it had to be him.

Him, who Spock has not been able to stop thinking about since he stowed away on the Enterprise. Him, who Pike had vouched for, and had given a ship to, and had given his life for Spock and the Enterprise Crew—and the lives of so many on earth who would have been needlessly taken by Khan.

Him, who Spock couldn’t bear to look at any longer because he _wanted_ and it would be foolish and illogical to try and have.

_Him._

If Spock truly valued himself and his own peace of mind at all, he would have stood up and left.

Instead he nods and says, “I hope you did not have trouble finding me in this crowd.”

James snorts. “You’re not exactly hard to miss, you know.” He thumbs the rim of the glass and sighs. “You been here a while?”

“No.” He hesitates, then amends, “Yes, but I was not waiting for you long. I am here with some of my…crew,” he finishes a little awkwardly, profoundly aware of how not-human he is in the face of a man so, incredibly, beautifully terran.

The smile on James’ face makes the whole interaction worth it, and allows him to believe that awkward or no, it’s not entirely off-putting. His stomach twists then, unpleasantly, when he realizes this is a transaction—in a sense. This is an agreement, before they board their respective ships and go on their separate ways. Spock is always somewhat aware of the Farragut activity, but he’s uncertain where it’s heading after this.

They have been as busy as the Enterprise, and Spock does not entirely acknowledge that he does a status check on James at least once per day. It’s not something he’s ready to admit.

“So,” James says, right as Spock says, “I suppose we should perhaps find a private room if we are to…”

The silence is heavy, then James laughs. “Your ship or mine?”

Spock’s eyes go wide, and his mouth opens for an immediate protest, which dies on his lips when James reaches out and puts one hand over his.

“That was a joke.”

“I am…still not quite as familiar with the human ability to jest, though I am learning, James.” He flushes green. “Or do you prefer Jason in this context?”

James frowns, adorably confused. “I prefer Jim, actually, in any context.”

“Jim,” Spock tries out, and even in the dim light he can see the way it makes the apples of Jim’s cheeks flush pink.

“Is it okay to call you Spock? Or would you prefer something like Captain?”

Spock’s flush deepens but he manages to shake his head. “Familiarity in this context seems appropriate. I know there are rooms nearby.”

“Eager,” Jim says, then leans in and whispers with conspiracy coloring his tone, “I like it.” He slaps his hand on the top of the bar and pushes himself off the stool. “Let me go pay for a room. Promise you won’t go anywhere.”

“You have my word,” Spock says. He watches with keen eyes as Jim crosses the room to a corner where a humanoid figure sits at a desk. His observations are interrupted by a tall, thin, blonde man wearing a red shirt—sans badge—who disrupts his eyeline.

“Hey, are you waiting for someone, handsome?”

Spock’s eyebrow lifts as he takes in the younger man, then shakes his head. “I am afraid your advances are unwelcome at this time. I am currently occupied.”

It’s right then Jim appears, and the younger man looks put off, but backs away without complaint as Jim offers his hand, and Spock doesn’t hesitate to take it.

~*~ 

Jim is torn. Split wide and bloody, right down the middle because on one hand, he’s getting what he wants most in the world—Spock. On the other hand, it’s clearly a hook-up, for one night—maybe two if he can stretch it. Because soon enough Shore Leave is over and they’ll be heading back to their ships and assignments, and Spock doesn’t exactly seem like he’s proposing marriage here.

Jim’s not entirely sure what this is going to do to his heart. Maybe it’ll rip it to pieces. Maybe…just maybe…he’ll get over it. Maybe he just needs to get it out of his system—which Jim is a genius and he doesn’t even need to be one to know that never works.

But he’s a little self-destructive and a little masochistic. At least enough to get the room, and wink at Bones, and chase off some young asshole barely out of the Academy, and drag Spock off. 

The real Christmas Miracle is that Spock follows without hesitation or complaint.

The room is attached to the bar—like some drunk hook-up version of a B&B, and as he’s shoving the chip against the door to unlock it, he realizes something and quickly turns to Spock. “Shit. Can Vulcans get drunk? Are you drunk?”

He’s obsessively studied Vulcan anatomy and biology so should the moment happen, he’ll know how to please Spock, but he never considered the whole alcohol thing.

“We can, but I am not currently inebriated. Vulcans process intoxicants at a rate nine point six times faster than an average human metabolism,” he says, and leans against the desk so fucking casual and so fucking sexy, Jim wants to die. “I ingested chocolate earlier, but I am in full control of my faculties.”

“I…yeah. Good. Okay.” Jim steps up to him and lets out a breath that trembles a little. He touches the back of Spock’s hand and registers the way Spock tightens his whole body, and leans into it a little. “Is this okay?”

Instead of answering, Spock merely turns his hand palm out, and lets Jim rub the tips of his fingers along exposed flesh.

“I know your hands are sensitive. But I also know you’re half human, so I don’t want to assume…”

“It is indeed pleasurable, Jim,” Spock says, his voice low and husky. One hand lifts, and comes to rest on Jim’s waist. “My anatomy and physiology are very much Vulcan, but I share some human desires as well.” His hand then lifts, and touches Jim’s cheek, then pulls him in for a kiss.

Jim groans, and parts his lips, and he shudders _all over_ when Spock’s tongue slips in—warm, a little dry and rough, and fucking perfect. His eyes roll back a little, and he presses himself, a hard line, right up against Spock’s body. His knee hitches between Spock’s legs, and he can feel the first stirrings—the first appearance of Spock’s lok and god… _god_ , he wants to see it.

“Can I touch you?” Jim asks.

Spock nods, not letting his lips further than a centimeter away, and he reaches between them with one hand to unbuckle his belt, slip free the button, and part his pants at the zipper. “You may touch me,” he finally says.

Jim feels that invitation right in his cock, which hardens all the way, and throbs against the seam of his own pants. He ignores it for now, in favor of teasing at Spock’s slit, to get his penis to appear. It does, short, but thick, and pulsing and almost buzzing with wet villi. Jim thinks about what it will feel like inside of him, knows that it’ll make a sensation like vibration and…and Jesus…

“Bed,” Jim gasps. “I want to be on the bed. And I want to be naked. And I want you inside me, Spock.”

Spock loses his breath—Jim hears him gasp, and then Spock surges in to kiss him, rough and desperate before backing Jim up toward the soft bed.

It doesn’t take long to get to business. Spock is all Vulcan in his perfunctory way he strips them both, and uses his own natural body fluids to lube up his fingers and get Jim nice and fingered. He doesn’t turn him, but instead lifts his legs, bent at the knees, and pushes his pelvis right against Jim’s ass. After what feels like an eternity, Spock’s penis extends fully, right into Jim, and it’s a little tight—burns a little—right at the start.

And then it’s so fucking good Jim wants to cry. He’s writhing under Spock’s attentive fingers, and he’s twisting his head in a way that he’s trying to make it an invitation to meld. He knows Vulcans prefer it that way, knows they derive pleasure from sharing in each other’s feelings, but Spock deliberately keeps away from Jim’s face except to kiss him.

His hands are everywhere else though, and eventually one of them curls around Jim’s dick, stroking in hard pulls until the orgasm is all-but wrung out of him. He comes all over his stomach, and in a final rush of pleasure, feels his insides go wet and sticky with Spock’s climax.

And then…

And then it’s over.

Spock gently slips away, and Jim lays there with his breath stuttering in his chest as Spock stands—still completely naked—and searches the room for something to clean up with. His motions are kind, but clinical as he cleans the fluid from himself, then from Jim’s stomach and ass.

Jim says nothing—not sure what to say, doesn’t know what to think except that he doesn’t want this to be over, doesn’t want Spock to go. Only he has no idea how to ask.

“I…” Jim says.

Spock is dressed now, mostly put together except a few pieces of hair which are out of place, and on a Vulcan it makes him look positively ravished.

Spock stares at Jim who is just now forcing himself to dress. “I am uncertain how these things end. This was…a first time for me.”

Jim stares at him. “Oh my god,” he groans. “You…you haven’t…your first time?”

Spock blinks, then shakes his head. “You misunderstand. It was not my first time with coitus, it was my first time using the services. Pavel was not entirely clear how to manage payment.”

It hits Jim like a dull blow to the sternum, even if he’s not entirely clear on what the hell Spock is talking about. “Payment,” he repeats flatly.

Spock reaches into his pocket and fiddles with his comm. “I was under the impression the electronic application would take care of payment with credits, but if you require authorization, or perhaps…gratuity.”

Jim swallows thickly. Disbelief is rushing through him, making everything seem faint and fuzzy. He breathes through it. “You called me James.”

“Yes,” Spock says. “You requested that I call you Jim, in fact.”

“You know who I am.”

Spock frowns. “Of course. Even if it were not for Vulcan eidetic memory, the short time we have known each other was…memorable.”

“But you think…you called me Jason.”

Spock shuffles, for the first time looking very visibly uncomfortable. “I was uncertain if it was a name you preferred when engaging with clients.”

“You think I’m a hooker. Oh my god,” Jim says, and puts the flat of his hand to his face and drags it down hard. “I am a fucking Starship Captain!”

“I did not think you were a prostitute,” Spock says. “But I admit I am uncertain what terms are preferred with using these services. I do understand the logic of them, the convenience when one is often in deep space and cannot find the time to connect with partners who…”

“I have to…I need to go,” Jim says, and it’s all crashing down on him because he thought…he thought Spock had recognized him and wanted to hook up because maybe he was feeling the same damn way. Maybe he’d been pining all these years too, and now that they finally had a chance to…

But no. Because Jim’s fucking luck, Spock was using Space Tinder to get his rocks off, and hired a fuck-buddy through an app and that’s who he thought Jim was. Fuck. Fuck everything, and fuck his life, and he hates his dick with a passion because it always does this to him.

He doesn’t look back when he leaves, just rushes off and hopes that he’ll never, ever run into the Vulcan captain ever again.

~*~ 

Spock is confused by the way Jim runs out—by the way Jim seemed distressed and almost horrified. For a moment only, he entertains the thought that perhaps Jim was feeling guilty for participating in the services. And then logic settles over him and quickly fills in the gaps.

Jim was not Jason. It was likely that the young man trying to gain his attention at the bar earlier was the man from the services, and Jim happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Spock was distracted by his feelings toward Jim—by his longing and desire—that he didn’t take the time to ask. He didn’t take the time to consider that a Starfleet Captain would likely not have been on the payee end of these services, but the payor. Like him.

He feels foolish, embarrassed, and heart-broken. It is likely from Jim’s reaction that he will not wish to speak to Spock, and Spock is uncertain why he might say. Even if Jim were to understand the reasons for the misunderstanding, he would most certainly look at Spock askance.

There is no hope for them now.

So with that in mind—his body still singing from Jim’s touch, still able to smell the way Jim is embedded in his skin, Spock gathers his things, pulls out his comm, and beams back to the Enterprise.

~*~ 

“Keptin?”

Spock turns to find Pavel looking a little sheepish and a little confused in the corridor near the transporter room. Spock only just stepped off, so Pavel must have been close behind. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, I…received a message from…” His eyes dart back and forth, and Spock understands what he’s trying to indicate. “He says payment went through, but you rebuked his…conversation and left with someone else.”

“There was a misunderstanding,” Spock says quietly, then sighs, the noise making Pavel jump. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Shall I request a refund, sir, or…”

“That will not be necessary, as his time was misspent. Please let Number One know that I will be in my ready room when she boards.”

“Aye, Sir,” Pavel says, then hurries off, and Spock manages to reach his quarters without being interrupted again.

He’s not alone for long. Nyota boards the ship, and is soon standing in his doorway. “Pascha said you wanted to see me?” They’re not on duty, but the night had been enough of a mess, Spock finds it a little grating that she’s being familiar with him. He attempts to calm his frustration, and reminds himself it’s not her fault—it was his own.

“Indeed. I wish to end shore leave a little early.”

Her eyebrows go up, and she steps in so the doors can close. “Spock,” she says softly, then crosses the room and sinks down next to him on the little sofa that she insisted he have to make the place more inviting. He stiffens, but it doesn’t stop her from reaching out. Their relationship was never able to progress the way she had wanted, but she’s happy now, and she remains one of the few people he allows this close. The touch actually feels comforting. “What happened?”

Spock licks his lips and feels very human—very fragile for his feelings. “I have…perhaps made a grievous mistake.”

She cocks her head to the side, but says nothing, waiting patiently in the silence.

“I mistook the identity of the escort Lt. Chekov ordered for…another.”

“Captain Kirk,” she says with a small smile—her history with the Farragut Captain as long as his own.

Spock feels his cheeks heat, and he bows his head. “Yes.”

“So you went home with him?”

“We obtained a room on the planet, where we engaged in sexual congress,” he admits. It feels strangely freeing to be so open with her, and he feels grounded by her tight grip on his wrist. “It was after coitus that…” Spock trails off.

“That’s when he found out?”

“I was perhaps insensitive, but I did not realize he was not the person from the service. I believe my desire for him previous to tonight clouded my judgement.” By the look on her face, she understands the gravity of trust it takes for Spock to admit something like that to anyone. “He was insulted, and rightfully so. I did not handle it the way I should have.”

“Maybe you should go and talk to him,” she points out, and his eyebrows fly up. “Seriously, Spock. You’ve been pining after this guy forever, and he clearly likes you because he was down to get busy with you on his own. Just…”

“You do not think the fact that I was using the services will…cause him to lose respect for me?” Spock asks.

“I think, knowing that little shit,” she says with a small grin, “he was probably more embarrassed, and he probably thought you only wanted to sleep with him because you were paying for it.”

“That is…logical,” he admits slowly, though he sounds dubious. “But I am uncertain.”

“You’re both Starship Captains,” she points out. “Just request to beam aboard, and talk this out like grownups. The worst that’s going to happen is he’s not interested. The best…”

She leaves that open ended, because there are too many variables, and Spock doesn’t dare hope for a single one.

“Thank you, Nyota,” he says quietly, and extracts his arm from her grip. He makes his way to the bridge, and he’s grateful it’s a skeleton crew working because he doesn’t want an audience when he hails the Farragut.

It’s in orbit not far from him, and he waits impatiently for the call to be answered.

The first person on screen is a man Spock recognizes from the day he marooned Jim on Delta Vega. Lieutenant Scott, who was offered a job in engineering for the Enterprise, but chose to follow Kirk instead. Spock was not happy about it, but he understood the loyalty.

“Captain Spock,” Lt. Scott says, his brogue heavy and friendly, “what can I do for you this fine evening?”

“I…was hoping to beam aboard, to speak with Captain Kirk. Is he…available?”

Spock sees the way Scotty’s eyes flicker to the side, and the way his cheeks pink, and Spock’s sensitive hearing picks up a familiar voice hissing, _“tell him I’m not here_!”

Spock sighs. “Please inform the Captain that Vulcans possess a range of eighteen point seven percent wider than humans, and therefore I can hear him…whispering.”

“Fuck,” comes Jim’s voice. “I…”

“Please, Captain,” Spock says, and he puts as much emotions as he can bear in his tone. “It will not take long.”

“Fine,” Jim says, though he hasn’t come on the viewscreen yet. “Just…Scotty, beam him aboard and then show him to my ready room.”

“Aye, Captain.” Scott gives a sort of mock salute, then turns back to the viewscreen. “Captain Spock, d’ya mind if I lock on you now?”

“Not at all, Mr. Scott,” Spock says, and moves to input the code which will allow the Farragut to beam him aboard. He takes a breath, then feels his molecules start to rearrange. 

~*~ 

Jim’s pacing, and counting the seconds, and trying not to lose his nerve because the whole thing was a damn shit-show. He’d never been taken so high, then dropped so low so damn quickly in his life. He’s got emotional whip-lash and really hoped he wouldn’t have to do this.

He’d commed Bones and begged to leave orbit, but apparently Bones had found friends and wouldn’t be back until the following afternoon. There was no one to unload his emotional misery onto, and now he was having to face Captain Spock while still feeling compromised.

Oh the damn irony.

He hears Spock’s approach, and Scotty’s annoyingly excited voice, and he makes them wait a long while before opening the door. Scotty’s gone by that point, and Spock looks hesitant and if Jim’s really searching, possibly even contrite.

“Come in,” Jim says. “Can I offer you a drink?”

“Thank you, but I shall decline,” Spock says. He looks as he’s always looked—unfairly beautiful, hands clasped behind his back, cool as a man can be under this kind of pressure, not a hair out of place. 

Jim knows he probably looks like a bog goblin with the way he’s been rubbing his face and tugging at his hair, but he just can’t bring himself to give a shit right now. Spock thought he was…thought he was…

He fucked him because he thought he was paying for it, and if that’s not a blow to the ego…

“I have come to apologize. About the miscommunication,” Spock starts.

“It’s no big deal,” Jim says. “We’re both adults, we can you know…move on.”

“My First Officer informed me you may be under the impression I only engaged in sexual congress with you due to financial obligation. I wish to convey this is not true. Yes, I did believe you were utilizing the services in order to engage in coitus with a partner—which can be difficult in our respective positions—but I admit to feeling relief and elation that it was you, Jim.” Spock pauses for a moment, and Jim can’t even really think, but he’s trying his hardest to process.

“So you…” Jim clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck. “It…you wanted me.”

“Affirmative.” Spock lets his hands fall to his sides. “I noticed that I harbored romantic feelings for you just before you were assigned to the Farragut,” Spock says. “I was under the impression that a relationship would be difficult for a human to maintain when one’s significant other is aboard another ship. So I did not attempt to present myself to you as an option.”

Jim licks his lips and…dry. God, why are they _so dry_. It’s like the Sahara all up in his mouth. “I. Well. Fuck.” He shuffles his feet. “I’ve…yeah. Me too.” Eloquent as ever, _Captain_.

Spock’s mouth twitches at the corner, and in spite of all those feelings he’s been feeling, he wants to lean in and lick that little spot. “Is it reasonable to assume that you not only felt similar to myself, but that perhaps you would be amenable to a relationship. Even if it is aboard two separate ships?”

“Spock, I’d wait forever for you,” Jim blurts, and maybe that’s a bit premature. He knows that this Vulcan is prone to hissy fits, and he’s kind of a picky asshole, and he’s got an attitude the size of Mt. Everest. But he’s tender too, and sweet, and _shy_ , and he’s patient as all hell, and he’s here right now suffering through what could be horrific humiliation to lay himself bare. For Jim.

So maybe not entirely premature.

“I know humans can be idiots,” he goes on, “and I can definitely be an idiot.” His heart beats hard when Spock actually smiles at that. “But I’m willing to wait. We don’t have to be on separate ships forever.”

Spock takes one step closer, then two, then three,four,five until he’s right up against Jim, backing him into the desk. “I have always been curious what it might be like to serve under Captain Kirk. On this ship.”

Jim flushes, and clears his throat. “I told Pike that I’d get the Enterprise someday. Two bad two people can’t take the helm.”

Spock cocks his head to the side. “I would step down, if it meant serving under someone worthy.” He’s leaning in far enough now their lips are almost brushing as he speaks.

Jim swallows thickly. “Are you saying I’m worthy?”

“I will have to take time to consider,” Spock murmurs, “however, from what I’ve seen…” His words die off, and then they’re kissing again.

Jim lets himself feel it, leans into it, and when Spock’s hand comes up to his face, where Jim knows his psi-points are, he opens himself to it. “I want you to,” Jim says. 

Spock’s breath hitches, and then he murmurs words in Vulkhansu and Jim feels a presence—overwhelming, and terrifying, but also safe and so beautiful. They’re wrapped in each other, and Jim doesn’t know where Spock ends, and he begins, but it feels…it feels right.

He doesn’t notice right away when they’ve parted. Their bodies are still touching, and he feels an echo of Spock inside of his mind, like a planted seed.

“Parted from me, but never parted,” Spock murmurs. “Never and always, touching and touched.”

“Those are wedding vows,” Jim says, a little stunned, and slightly dizzy.

Spock huffs and dips low to kiss at the sliver of exposed skin near his shoulder. “Bonding vows. They are not official, but while we are parted…”

“Yes,” Jim says. He knows it’s not perfect—it’s not like a comm implanted in his mind. It is simply a presence—a way to feel each other, to feel a part of something bigger, and not so alone. There will be time for the intimate stuff later—when they have done their duty, when they can focus on them. They’re young yet still.

Spock reaches up to cup Jim’s face. “Then I am with you always.”

Jim merely smiles in return.


End file.
